He who travels to be amused, or to get somewhat which he does not carry, travels away from himself, and grows old even in youth among old things. Travelling is a fool’s paradise. Our first journeys discover to us the indifference of places. But the rage of travelling is a symptom of a deeper unsoundness affecting the whole intellectual action. The intellect is vagabond, and our system of education fosters restlessness. However, our minds travel when our bodies are forced to stay at home.

But perhaps our greater value and greater function are to be unwitting embodiments of the disheartening idea that a freed man is not a free man, that liberation is just a means to attain freedom and is not synonymous with it. This highlights the extent of the damage that can be done to the species, and we can feel prouf of playing this role. However, if we wan to play a bigger role, the role of a free man, then we should be capable of accepting – or at least imitating – the manner in which a free man fails. A free man, when he fails, blames nobody.

It reminds me that too many times my horses go different ways and I pretend they don’t. That’s why I’ll need to start taking my time and figure out what I really want. What master am I going to choose? Do I really want to give up on Philosophy?

This is something i sometimes feel while struggling with a foreign language.

Working with her, making the new sounds, watching her lips, repeating words and syllables, hearing his own flat voice take on texture and dimension, he could almost believe he was being remade on the spot, given an opening to some larger and deeper version of himself. The language had a size to it, a deep-reaching honesty.